Of Ashes and Blood and Everything in Between
by SammyQuill
Summary: Of all the trials they've been through, very few words have actually been exchanged between them. A series of drabbles/one shots featuring Roy and Riza in Ishval. Warning: Angst ahead!
1. Hurt

**_This fic has become the refuge for all my Ishval centric writings as of this moment (5:36 a.m., Tuesday, 28th June, 2011)_**

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><p><strong>Author's Rant:<strong> Okay, I know what you guys are thinking. But I am still working on _Almost Here_. This is just a quick little drabble for bay115 who requested a story about Roy burning Riza's back in return for the phenomenal banner she made me. I apologize in advance for all the dark, morbid themes in here but this is the only way I can see it happening. Feel free to hate me.

To bay115, you know I had issues with this particular subject matter so I hope I haven't let you down completely. But if I failed, please let me know and I swear I'll write you something better. *hides*

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><p><strong>Of Ashes and Blood and Everything in Between<strong>

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><p>She comes in smelling like sand and sun and torrid desert wind. Occasionally, she also smells of blood.<p>

He comes in smelling of burnt skin and hair.

Ishval is set into their skin, their minds. Every day is now routine. Duties and shifts may vary but the overall pattern of it persists. By day, they are killers, by night, even they can't define themselves.

He doesn't know if what they're doing is wrong, and she doesn't voice her own verdict either way. And if he hates himself for fucking her on the rough, tarp covered ground, it is nowhere near as much as he loathes himself for what he has done earlier that day. _A war really does a number on one's priorities,_ he thinks, biting down hard on the sweaty skin of her shoulder. She whimpers but he can feel her nails digging into his back with just as much force. He'll feel the stinging later when he showers.

Their arrangement is not orderly, no dates and times have been set for when he could come in. They don't even know each other's shifts. All they really know is that when one needs the other, the other is somehow always there.

They never talk about it, _ever._

A year passes, then two.

Word spreads like one of his creations: the war will be over soon. Soldiers would be able to return home.

That night, they cling to each other harder, because they know they have nowhere to go.

She is the first to break their tradition of silence.

"Sir, may I ask a favor of you?"

He nods, his fingers tracing the mole beneath her shoulder blade, wishing he had better visual access to it. Damn that stupid sketch.

"I need you to… burn it off."

And just like that, he is pushing her away from him, distancing himself from the smell of burnt flesh already filling his senses. Hastily, he gets to his feet and upon seeing her hurt expression, tosses the nearest garment her way. It is his own shirt, once grey now bleached white.

"What kind of a sick request is that?"

"A kind similar to the one my father asked of me years ago. And not so different from what you requested later on. Now it's my turn."

He walks out, vowing to never step foot in the tent again.

She doesn't persist.

The end of the war finally arrives; soldiers scramble to get on the trucks heading back home. He is in no hurry.

She is packed, of the few possessions she came with, only half have survived.

He notices she walks with a slight stoop, as though the markings on her back physically weigh her down. It takes another two days for him to realize they probably do. He isn't the only one allowed to have demons, after all. He goes to her tent for the last time that night.

She is there, as always, this time undressed and with a rag ready to gag her mouth. He notices bits of rope for her limbs too, in case the involuntary flailing disrupts his work.

She in turn notices the blade scars along his arms, some even intersecting with the veins on his wrists.

He ties her up without a word but has the decency to let her gag herself first. Because this will apparently make him less of a monster.

He pinpoints the flames with one gloved hand, clutching a fresh blade in the naked palm of the other. He later tells her the blade was to "cut" the hypnotic feel of using fire alchemy. She does not call him up on it.

That night, he leaves smelling of blood and she of burnt skin and hair.

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><p><strong>End Note: <strong>*double hides in emo corner*


	2. Addiction

**Title:** Addiction

**Author:** SammyQuill

**Series:** Manga

**Word Count:** 249

**Characters:** Roy, Riza, Kimblee

**Summary:** Set in Ishval, Roy tries to cope with having powers akin to that of a demigod.

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><p>There was no doubting the fact that he hated himself for the demon he had become. One had only to notice his stone cold expression as he snapped his fingers, enter his tent and see the remaining shards of a mirror on the tarmac and smell his drunken breath as he talked of all those he had killed to know that.<p>

But a part of him, one that sounded terrifyingly like Kimblee, couldn't deny that snapping his fingers, feeling the balance of gasses in the air shifting to his will, morphing into a force of nature ready to do his bidding, made him feel _alive_. It made him feel in control, untouchable, _powerful_. Yes, loathe as he was to admit it, Roy Mustang had to keep himself in check constantly so as to not get used to the feeling of getting high on his own alchemical prowess.

The temptation to give in was always present in the allure of forces a common man could never begin to imagine. All that power, the decisions of life and death, resting literally in his palm, was indeed more than he could take. It also seemed unfair, his inner Kimblee suggested, that he hate himself for doing what was expected, to never be able to take _pride_ in his work.

But in the end, all it took to break out of that smooth voice's grip was _her_ face, lurking in the shadows, _her_ eyes empty, haunted and as dead as all his victims'.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> Reviews are much loved.


	3. Voice of Reason

**Title:** Voice of Reason

**Author:** SammyQuill

**Series:** Manga

**Word Count:** 500

**Characters:** Roy, Riza

**Summary:** "The nights in Ishval are as cold as the days are hot. Except with her, everything is hot."

**A/N:** Song lyrics from _Tomorrow_ by Chris Young integrated throughout the entry. Dedicated to the beautiful Lau Nebin. Rated for a reason, please proceed with caution.

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><p>Tomorrow, he promises himself, he would not repeat this.<p>

The nights in Ishval are as cold as the days are hot. Except with her, everything is hot. Her naked body is warm against his, her touch burns his flesh, giving him sick pleasure to be on the receiving end of heat, the pools of sticky cum that gather on the tarp are also warm, as is the blood she draws from his skin with her fingernails.

Though it has been going on for longer than he cares to admit, the disgust over what is happening in the tent is never lost to him. Each time he leaves the canvas shelter just before dawn, he hates himself just as much as he did the nearly morning before. And the only thought that keeps him sane is that tomorrow, he would listen to that voice of reason inside his head and not do this again.

Said voice of reason however, has been very quiet lately.

He doesn't realize when their quick fucks become cuddling affairs, when he starts to hold her for comfort alone, spooning up to her all night long without saying a word, often fully clothed.

It's wrong, what they're doing. Screwing a subordinate in times of war is somewhat understandable, but this? What does he think they are, lovers? As if she could love _him_ after all he put her through? As if he could love _anyone_ after all he put her through? They are both wrong for each other. Far from mellowing him out, she is fast becoming the gasoline to his fire. And in the end, all they can bring each other are tears and sorrow.

But even tears and sorrow are better than not being with her.

The end of the war approaches, all locals have either been eliminated or successfully escaped into hidey holes too tiresome to uncover. He has very little time left.

He holds her that night as if he's handling a crystal statuette, like the ones that used to reside at Ishbala's alter before the temples were blasted apart. On last time, he tells himself as he gives in to the instinct of loving her with all the desperation he can never show. He takes his time, kissing her tanned skin, running his fingers through her light curls, pistoning in and out of her at an excruciatingly slow pace, just to make it last longer.

He convinces himself that he would for once, _love_ her. Love her like she deserves, like there's no tomorrow.

He watches her head to the trucks with all the other Privates and for a moment, is seized by an insane wish to ask her to stop. To ask her to hurt with him, marry him, die with him, _just stay_. The voice of reason, lost so long ago, resurfaces, telling him to do it if only there is something worth saving in the first place.

He watches her leave wordlessly, unable to argue with such infallible logic.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> As with anything I write, feedback is appreciated.


	4. Underneath the Star Strewn Sky

**Title:** Underneath the Star-Strewn Sky

**Author:** SammyQuill

**Series:** Manga/FMA-B

**Words:** 390-ish

**Characters:** Roy, Riza

**Summary:** Roy isn't the only one who has nightmares

**Warnings: **N/A

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><p>Sometimes (almost every day), he finds himself making his way to her tent in the dead of the night. Amid cool desert gales that (cut across the small exposed bits of his skin) blow sand in his face and eyes, he finds himself simply standing outside the canvas shelter. Not daring to go in (unable to stay away).<p>

He likes to think (to hope, to pray) that he's invisible as he holds his post outside her tent. That he's a silent guardian (ha, a guardian, _him_) who can keep all her nightmares at bay. He has long since succumbed to his own but maybe he can (he _will_) protect her from a similar fate.

It doesn't work often (never). He can still hear her tossing and turning inside, can still hear the muffled screams as her sleep is haunted by visions of her waking hours. But he pretends (he's gotten very good at that lately) otherwise, believes his presence outside is making a difference.

He never planned on being caught out, so it comes as a genuine surprise when one day, she steps out of the tent (looking every bit as dead as he always feared she would up close) and makes her way to him. She doesn't say a word, and he doesn't feel the need to articulate one either. Together, they gaze at the star-strewn sky (the only beauty left in this godforsaken place), not talking, not touching (not breathing).

Finally, as the first rays of another morning crawl across the vast expanse of space above them, she stirs. Her face illuminated by the rising sun is enough to make any man's heart flutter but he feels nothing (as empty as her lifeless eyes).

For a moment, it seems as though she would say something. Her lips part slightly, but then close again. She gets up as quietly as he does and without a word, they both walk in opposite directions (not once looking back).

That night, he is outside her tent again. The wind is still biting, the sky still clear and impossibly huge, the sand still viciously swiping at his face and eyes. There is only one marked change.

This time she's outside waiting for him.

Maybe his presence _has_ made a difference?

(Maybe he's gotten better at pretending than he realizes.)

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> Trying out a new style yet again. *cringes* Let me have it, then. Did it work?


	5. Silent Heart

**Title:** Silent Heart

**Author**: SammyQuill

**Word Count:** 389

**Series:** Manga

**Characters:** Riza, mentions of Kimblee as "The Major"

**Warning:** Violence, nothing graphic though

**A/N:** Through a careful process of elimination and estimation (which basically consisted of me PM-ing _maryh10000_ and asking her if she had any clue as to what rifle Riza used in Ishval and then filching off _her_ research), Riza's weapon is now a Mouser Type B Bolt Action Rifle with Telescopic Sight in my Ishval-verse.

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><p>On the day of her 21st birthday, Riza Hawkeye shot an Ishvalan child.<p>

It wasn't a noble shot, wasn't done in defense as the child neared any of the soldiers she was assigned to protect, wasn't even necessary as the child was actually – upon closer examination – running _away_ from the rubbles under which he had taken refuge and gone unnoticed.

No, he had been murdered on instinct. Because her finger had gotten so trigger happy, it had conditioned itself to shoot at anything that made a sudden move, anything that wasn't swathed in camouflage capes and blue wool.

The corpse had been found minutes later by a soldier who had looked upon it in disgust before waving a hand to the general direction of her nest. _Thanks_, it said, making her want to vomit out the meager contents of her stomach right then and there.

After she regained her composure, fixed the impassive mask back on her face, she tried to reason with herself. Why should this death matter so much when she killed on a daily basis? She had killed children before, women, the elderly… they all had. Their deaths were just as unnecessary as this child's so what set _him_ apart?

In the end, she never did find the answer to her questions, not as she reloaded her Mouser, not as she watched The Major at work, not as another sniper came to quietly relieve her of her post many hours later.

That night, she found herself making her way to the half destroyed building that once used to be a temple – before The Major had seen fit to blow it up but only in certain parts, determined to insult it further by only destroying the inner shrines.

The questions from earlier were still whirling around in her head with no answers as she made her way into the crumbling shelter and walked the length of the hall, stopping at the alter which should have housed sacred artifacts but now just displayed rubble. Slowly, she sank to her knees.

She didn't know how it would work, didn't know what say, didn't know the child's name, wasn't sure she even _believed_ in a higher power. Nonetheless, she closed her eyes and began.

On the night of her 21st birthday, Riza Hawkeye awkwardly prayed for an Ishvalan child.

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><p><strong>End Notes:<strong> Feel free to leave a review if you have a minute. I personaly think this came out choppy so...


	6. Blood and Sunshine

**Title:** Blood and Sunshine

**Author:** SammyQuill

**Series:** Gah, none, well, very manga AU

**Word Count:** 197

**Characters****:** Riza/Kimblee (Jim the muse did it!)

**Summary:** What does one do with perfection after capturing it unaware?

**Warning:** Kimblee

**AN:** It's finally happened, my muse has met Zolf. *hides*

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><p>He watches her face because he knows it is the only part of her that is still perfect, that is the only part of her she would let him see. And thus the argument becomes circular like the array on his palm. Perfection meets perfection as his palm cups her cheek, his fingers ghost over her closed lids and his tongue licks a scarlet lip softly, wanting to devour the beauty of the Ishvalan sun blazing in her hair, the murderous weariness on her brow.<p>

He has captured that moment which always eludes him, the moment where everything in the world stops to pay homage to that one object that has gained perfection, symmetry, balance and immortality. And of course, immortality cannot last forever, its beauty being it's fleeting, surreal existence.

He takes a deep breath, drinking in her sleeping form and prepares to do what he does when he meets utter perfection. With a last look at the sniper with the sun in her hair and the weight of the world in her dreams, he bring his palms together, ecstatic in the knowledge that no one save him will ever witness her radiance like this again.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> I seriously have no idea where this came from... but Jim says there's going to be more. Help!


	7. Disillusioned

**Title:** Disillusioned

**Author:** SammyQuill

**Series:** Manga

**Word Count:** 135

**Characters:** Roy/Riza

**Rating:** Tentative M – nothing graphic

**AN:** Going through a really rough patch guys, but Happy Christmas and New Year to you all. If we survive the midnight, I'll see you on the flip side.

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><p>He has always fantasized about tasting her, imagines she would taste like honey and peaches and desire, all rolled into one dizzyingly sweet combination that would drive him over the edge. Of course, if asked why he thinks this, he has no logical explanation. No reason to think she would taste like the first drippings of nectar from flowers of spring. He tells himself that him <em>wanting<em> her to taste that way is not a good enough reason.

But she doesn't, drip or is sweet. Out here in the desert, she tastes like everything else, dry and dusty. And no matter how much he tries, he can't do anything about it. He doesn't know which is worse, the disillusioned fantasy or that when he touches her, she turns to sand, hard and gritty, and unforgiving.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> And if we don't, in the words of the great Tom Lehrer "We Will All Go Together When We Go". XD


	8. False Promises

**Title:** False Promises

**Author:** SammyQuill

**Series:** Manga

**Word Count: **330

**Characters:** Roy/Riza

**Warnings:** None

**Summary:** As brightly as the sun shines out here, the moon outshines it still. Ishval centric.

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><p>As brightly as the sun shines out here, the moon outshines it still. Maybe it does so because the night is dark, or maybe because it is the only light to focus upon from your filthy tent flap. The Ishvalans believe the moon is a bringer of peace, a gift from God to calm and heal His people. You wonder if they look at the moon now from their various hiding places, beseeching it for an end to this pointless war no one chose.<p>

You see the accusation in her eyes every time she looks at you – rarely and always with great caution – and it terrifies you anew every day when you can't tell if the accusation is meant for you or herself. Both of you have become very good at avoiding each other for two people who stay in the same camp. Her post is in the shadows while you slay the innocent in bright daylight. Sometimes, you wonder if she envies you with sick revulsion clawing inside her. At least your victims see you coming.

Words are irrelevant as human life out here, lost and buried in the sands coloured a deep scarlet. You once went to the beach with her a lifetime ago and wrote your names for the tide to swallow bit by bit. You had laughed at it then, now the memory serves as a reminder of your own mortality, and of hers. Maybe she remembers it too, maybe that's why she writes letters on the sand, only to sweep them over the next instant? You know, you've seen her do it.

You've also seen her gazing hypnotically at the moon from her own tent, mesmerized by its unending promise of peace and calm.. You've never found any peace in the silvery orb yourself but the fact that while the two of you take extreme care never to get into each other's way, you are still connected by this nightly ritual does calm you somewhat.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> Managed to get this out in the middle of my Big Bang panicking. Feedback is loved muchly.


	9. Challenge Accepted

**Title:** "Challenge Accepted..."  
><strong>Author:<strong> SammyQuill  
><strong>Series:<strong> Manga  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 205  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Kimblee, Riza  
><strong>Summary:<strong> "Out here in the desert, Kimblee is the only God worth worshiping"  
><strong>AN:<strong> The Arabic prayer of protection quoted here translates exactly to "In the name of God; with His name, nothing whatsoever on earth or heaven can inflict any harm; He is the All-Hearing, the All-Knowing."

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><p>بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الَّذِي لَا يَضُرُّ مَعَ اسْمِهِ شَيْءٌ فِي الْأَرْضِ وَلَا فِي السَّمَاءِ وَهُوَ السَّمِيعُ الْعَلِيمُ<p>

He stares at the words carved on the altar _(an Ishvalan woman - on her knees as he laid a hand lovingly on her dark head, as if blessing her while standing in place of the very God she worshipped – had told them what they meant)_ and his lips curl upwards, smiling at the Heavens. Ishvala was nothing, only a fairytale to put scared children to sleep. Out in the desert Kimblee was the only God worth worshipping _(he did hold their life in his very palm, as he reminded the sobbing woman, trailing a long pale finger down her tear soaked face, felling her tremble from his touch)._

"Challenge accepted..." the Major whispers to the etched words, raising his arms skywards _(just as he had raised them to the woman's breasts, revealing her olive skin inch by tantalizing, sweating, terrified inch, only for the Ishvalan to gasp as a dark hole blossomed on her skin, tainting it a sick dark red. The Hawk's Eye never missed, he had been told)_ in a gesture as old as time.

"Let's see how long You can save Your people... from me..."

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> Writing Kimblee is never a good sign. Oh Lord, help me! Reviews are very, ver,y very, very welcome!


	10. Liar

**Title:** Liar

**Author:** SammyQuill

**Series:** Manga

**Word Count:** 194

**Characters:** Roy, Riza

**Summary:** The first lie is always the hardest, but it gets easier with time...

**Note:** Inspire by 1) Love The Way You Lie (Eminem ft. Rihanna) and 2) likeadeuce's proposal that Roy and Riza have a bit of a "denial kink". Dedicated to Lou Nebin for being the genius that she is and reminding me that sand ripples too. XD

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><p>They constantly lied to each other, it was just their way of trying to get a handle on things. They couldn't do anythi9ng about the bloodshed, the sun, the rippling sand that swallowed innumerable bodies on a daily basis. So they found comfort in lying.<p>

"_All secure, Major."_

"_Good work, Private Hawkeye." _

They found comfort in murder by calling it mercy, the found an excuse for their crimes in orders. And most of all, they revelled in their distance from each other. It served as adequate punishment for what they did every single day.

"_Sleep well, Hawkeye?"_

"_Yes sir."_

They lied because the truth was too hard to ignore. It rang through the sand dunes and swirled with the wind, mixed with the stench of rotting, charred bodies. And someone had to try to ignore it.

"_Feeling cold?"_

"_No, sir."_

And somewhere along the line, lying became a habit, its own comfort and punishment. It didn't even matter that they knew when the other was lying, it simply became the thing they clung on to when all else failed.

"_Do you promise... to shoot me if I ever stray from my path?"_

"_I promise." _

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><p>End Note: Hi, I'm Sammy and I have a problem. I can't stop writing Ishval!Royai. XD <em><br>_


	11. Last Resort

**Title:** Last Resort

**Series:** Manga

**Word Count:** 276

**Characters:** Riza

**Summary:** She's just doing her job

**Warning:** Depression, hints of substance abuse and self harm

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><p>The soldier pills are never good in excess but these days, she has no choice. The manual says they should be used as a last resort but to her, every day is a last resort. Every day is another struggle to talk herself out of her sleeping bag, into her sand coloured cloak and off to the sniper's tower where she must take yet more lives for her country. She doesn't think she can't, she knows. And that's why they have become a necessity. It also helps when her body isn't the only thing to blame and hate at night.<p>

If anyone's noticed she always gives away her rations at mealtimes, they haven't openly said anything to her. Why would they? What right did _anyone_ have to tell her she should be looking after her health out here in this wasteland? What right did _she_ have to want food, or comfort, or a chance at redemption? She had left all those behind willingly when she had come to Ishval and now she has no one to blame but herself.

And the small red pallets that keep her going.

It doesn't matter if her body will get used to them in time or if they will get used to her body. All that matters is that no one will notice the difference. And that's the way it should be. Because as long as she is out of that tent within two minutes of being called, as long as her rifle is at the ready, as long as the Hawk's Eye mans her tower, Private Riza Hawkeye is doing her job.

And the soldier pills are doing theirs.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> I've been so out of the loop lately, work hates my moonlighting as a fanfic writer so I hope this wasn't completely awful. Writing wise anyway. XD


	12. The Power of Vulnerability

**Title:** The Power of Vulnerability

**Author:** SammyQuill

**Series:** Manga

**Word Count:** 149

**Characters:** Riza/Kimblee (in that sick twisted way only they can be)

**Summary:** She reminds him of baby birds…

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><p>She freezes under his scrutiny, freezes even out here in the sweltering heat. Almost as if she can sense that her next movement will be her last. Even the ends of her short sun bleached hair seem to stop mid sway under Major Zolf J Kimbley's interested gaze.<p>

She often reminds him a little of baby birds, with newly minted wings and no idea what to do with them. He sometimes entertains the thought of teaching her how to fly, sometimes of ripping those wings off just to watch her fall. He doesn't know which is more satisfying.

He always releases her in the end though, from his hungry gaze. Because he knows that she knows. She knows she's caught his eye. And as long as she lives, so lives the raw terror in her haunted brown eyes.

And knowing he can incite that in her is pure ecstasy.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> So.. Umm.. does anyone actually remember me?


	13. Shards

**Title:** Shards

**Author:** SammyQuill

**Series:** Manga

**Word Count:** 571

**Characters:** Havoc, Riza, mentions of Roy

**Summary:** "What's the matter Hawkeye, afraid of a bit of dirt?"

**Warnings:** Slight profanity

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><p>"Building up like a real son of a bitch tonight," his voice is firm despite the way the entrance to the tent flaps as he enters and for a moment, Riza is glad to see him. Glad to see the familiar shock of blond hair and the tip of the lit cigarette that appears to be alive against all odds. The warning had gone around the encampment earlier, their third this week. More superstitious soldiers had been heard whispering that it was Ishbala's revenge. Despite being amongst alchemists that could explain the science behind the most unexplained of phenomenons, this was the story that had caught hold and spread.<p>

"What's the matter Hawkeye, afraid of a bit of dirt?" The bravado is as familiar to Riza as the bolts and screws that make up her own rifle. Havoc, nineteen year old country boy that he is, has no idea how to deal with devastation of this level. He thinks that if he acts like it doesn't exist, it will cease to be and if Riza told him otherwise, she would be far more cruel than the storm raging outside.

"He'll be alright you know, I don't know why I'm telling you but he will," Havoc states flatly, falling beside her on the tarp and offering her another cigarette from the pack he has somehow managed to smuggle in. The sniper declines with a shake of her head, sharp brown eyes still focused on the entrance. She barely hears the grumbled "suit yourself" before Havoc lights a fresh one, filling the tent with smoke that makes her want to cry and retch at the same time.

This could have been her future, a small lit flame in a small village home, a country man smoking as she cooked for the children. Big Sunday dinners with the in laws and the dog getting under everyone's feet. This could have been her life, a single lit cigarette that could be put out just as easily.

But instead she had chosen the flames, the uncontrollable monstrosity that yielded to neither water nor wind and left everything in its path turned to ash. How easy it would have been to accept Havoc's offer of a smoke, of a warm bed and later, of something more. But even as she sat on her perch, eyes firmly trained towards the flap as if she could see beyond it, beyond the clouds of dust rolling through the camp and blinding the world, the sniper knew she would never take up the scared little boy on his offer. He deserved better than to share his pack with someone who would stay up all night to watch a city burn if it meant the creator of that fire was safe.

The night is long and Havoc snores, the break of dawn inches towards the half buried tents almost hesitantly, apologetic for the light it brings to wake the soldiers from their slumber. But it isn't dawn that Riza's alert eyes seek, it is something much finer.

For as she leaves the sleeping Havoc behind, exiting the makeshift shelter to find the latrine, the shimmer of diamonds catches her eyes. _Not diamonds_, the sniper corrects herself, kneeling down to observe the shards strewn into the fine sand.

_Glass_.

Formed with immense heat and sharp enough to cut. She picks one up anyway because it means he's still out there, still safe.

_Still hers._

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> Contrary to popular belief, no, I'm really not dead. I apologize for my long (longlonglonglong) absence but I'm coming back people! I missed you. :)


	14. Fear

**Title:** Fear

**Author:** SammyQuill

**Series:** Manga

**Word Count:** 230

**Characters:** Kimblee, Riza (yup, going there again)

**Summary:** "The major kills in two ways, but he likes watching people kill themselves the best"

**A/N:** Warnings for gore, general Kimblee psychotics.

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><p>It wasn't so much that Major Zolf J. Kimblee inspired fear in people, it was that fear followed him around in dark clouds, thick and viscous, clinging to his uniform and tangled seamlessly in his silky, obsidian hair, rendering his victims half dead even before the Crimson Alchemist as much as laid a finger on them to end their miserable existence. In all the time Riza had been following him, she had noted how the Major killed in two ways.<p>

His preference however was not in the killing itself, it was in watching his victims kill themselves.

The first time Riza had seen this had been in the form of a young Ishvalan girl. So terrified had the dark skinned teen been that she had grabbed the nearest spear and drove it into her own stomach. All before the Major's shadow fell upon her corpse. The officials may have called it suicide, Riza knew it was murder.

"Another one bites the dust," the sound had made Riza's skin crawl as her commanding officer stepped over the body carelessly.

"Should I inform the cleanup crew, sir?"

The cape of fear he wore so well was thick all around, almost choking her as Kimblee turned to face the blonde, his own features contorted in the grin Riza had long since associated with madness.

"And spoil my fun? Why Cadet, we've only just begun."

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> As usual, reviews are very much loved.


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